


Possession

by StormDancer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Supernatural Elements, see notes for warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:09:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is quiet, after it's gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: I didn't want to tag this as non-con because it's not, but I do feel like it needs some degree of trigger warning. Rape analogue, maybe? Let me know if you think it needs more and I'll add it. 
> 
> Don't know, don't own. Any of the fandoms included.

Zayn is quiet, after it’s gone. Some people might not think that’s something to be remarked upon, but Zayn’s quiet usually has a solidity, a noise almost, that makes his presence felt even when he’s not talking. Now, his quiet is painful in its distance. Like he doesn’t even fill his own body anymore.

The worst thing, though, is that he doesn’t laugh. Zayn’s always laughed at them, at Liam’s jokes and Louis’s antics and Niall’s happiness and Harry’s—Harry’s self. He doesn’t do that anymore, not even when Harry actually does trip over a banana peel. It hurts, but it would have been worth it, to hear Zayn laugh again. He doesn’t. He just pulls his knees into his chest, huddled in two sweatshirts, and holds on like letting go would mean something more than just physical.

\---

_The night before Harry leaves for L.A, he goes over to Zayn’s new house. It’s a big old rambling place a bit outside of town, and when Harry’d seen the pictures he’d thought it was perfect for Zayn. (Perfect for him too, maybe, for the parts of him that want kids and a dog and plenty of room to wander.) But when he gets there, he’s not sure that’s true. It’s cold, colder than it should be this early in fall, and something about it just doesn’t seem to fit._

_But Zayn’s excited, giving him the grand tour, shows him the room he’s made into the graffiti room and his library and the studio and how the backyard’s big enough for the dogs, and so Harry buries the feeling and enthuses about the space and the lines. They cook dinner together in the big kitchen, laughing and still managing to trip over each other every five seconds. Zayn feels too close and too far away all at once, like he has lately (always? Maybe always), but it’s nice, to sit together in the dining room and eat their stir fry and talk about what Zayn still wants to do with the house._

_“So have you met the ghost yet?” Harry asks, leaning forward interestedly. He’d talked about that, when he was buying the house—how it was apparently haunted, that this woman had died there years ago and was said to still walk the halls._

_“Nah.” Zayn grins, his tongue sticking out from between his teeth, “Guess she doesn’t like me.”_

_“But you’re not nervous? All alone out here?”_

_Zayn shakes his head. “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts,” he replies, and their laughter rings off the walls, the house throwing the echoes of it back like it doesn’t want them._

\---

Zayn’s been staying with Louis and El, but apparently he doesn’t talk to them either.

“He’s not rude or anything,” El says, leaning against the kitchen counter. Through the open door, they can see Zayn on the couch, under a pile of blankets. He’s staring at his hands like he’s never seen them before. “He just—barely says anything.”

“Of course he’s not rude, he’s still Zayn,” Louis snaps. El gives him a look, and Louis softens, leans into her. “Sorry. But…”

“He just drifts around,” El goes on. “Like a—”

“Don’t,” Louis warns, and Harry winces.

“Sorry.” She wraps her hands around her mug of tea, blows on the liquid. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah.” Harry looks past them, at Zayn. He’s found a book, but it doesn’t look like he’s reading it. “He’s gonna get better, right?”

Louis and Eleanor exchange a look that says more than it doesn’t.

“Yes,” Louis says firmly, like he used to say they’d win X-Factor. “He will.”

Harry sighs. He pours another mug of tea, and carries them both out to the couch. Zayn looks up when he comes over, and takes the mug with a nod. When Harry sits down next to him, he immediately leans into him, pulls Harry’s arm around him and huddles into his chest, like he needs Harry to be another blanket. Harry closes him in his arms, pulls him close. If all he can give him is his body heat, it’s enough.

\---

_The door opens on Harry’s first knock. He hadn’t thought it would—Louis’s said no one had answered when he’d gone over, and same for Niall and Liam and even Danny and Ant—but it swings open right away._

_“Oh, look at you,” Zayn says, and there’s something off in his voice, something weird about his accent, but Harry’s so relieved that he’s not dead or anything that it hardly registers. “Harry.” He says the word like he’s tasting it for the first time._

_“Look at me!” Harry strikes a pose. “You need to answer your bloody phone, Louis’s going bonkers.”_

_“Phone?” Zayn’s brow furrows. He’s dressed weirdly too, his jeans buttoned wrong and his hair’s braided instead of in a ponytail. “Right.”_

_“Yes, phone.” Harry rolls his eyes. “You made me come back from L.A. You know this means I expect you to come visit me, next time we can.” Zayn’s just looking at him, unblinking. His eyes are dark, more black than hazel. “Can I come in, please?”_

_“Of course!” Zayn claps his hands, like a kid might. “How remiss of me.”_

_He doesn’t sound sarcastic. “Are you okay?” Harry asks, stepping past Zayn to get inside. “I—”_

_He cut off by Zayn’s lips. It’s sudden and unexpected and Harry freezes as he feels Zayn against him, chapped lips and his tongue licking at Harry’s mouth and his hands on Harry’s forearms. But it’s not the shock that makes Harry’s lips open, that makes him kiss back for that single second before his mind kicks back in. Zayn’s kiss is clumsy and too wet and his hands are like claws on Harry’s arms, and Harry’s seen Zayn kiss people before, seen him when he as sixteen and a virgin and when he was twenty one and in love, and he knows that this is not how Zayn kisses, and Zayn doesn’t kiss him to begin with._

_He pulls back, steps away. “I’ve—nice to see you, I’ve just got to go, forgot the stove was on!” he babbles, and runs away before Zayn-but-not can stop him._

_He calls Louis from the car, to call a band-minus-Zayn meeting. He’s not sure what’s wrong, but they have a problem._

\---

It’s lucky they’re on a break, that they don’t have to do performances, because the first time they go to the rehearsal space Zayn just looks at his microphone like it’s foreign.

“We’ll do Where Do Broken Hearts Go,” Niall teases, smiling. Harry doesn’t know how he can, when Zayn’s pale and solemn and doesn’t have any of his usual light. “Your favorite!”

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. It’s barely more than a whisper, but it feels like a balm to Harry’s soul, just the sound of his voice. “I—I can’t.”

“Please?” Liam asks. “Just try.”

Zayn opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. “It’s—it’s wrong,” he says, and Harry doesn’t know what that means but he knows Zayn’s face is drooping and he’s starting to brood and that’s the last thing any of them want, Zayn going farther into his own head. Not now.

“Then you don’t have to,” Harry announces. He pulls Zayn back against him, hugs him close. Zayn’s in three layers today. He hasn’t worn less since it happened, Harry’s pretty sure. “You can be our fan club today.”

“We do always perform best with an audience,” Louis agrees, and that’s that. 

Zayn does watch them as they rehearse, his eyes big like he’s absorbing it all. Louis, probably forgetting he’s there, changes the words at one point to make it dirty, and they all laugh, but Harry sees Zayn’s lips twitch, sees the way he lets his legs go a little. After that, he makes sure to ham it up as much as he ever does on stage, his hips swaying and dancing awkwardly and generally clowning. Everyone looks at him like he’s crazy, but by the time they’re done Harry’s seen Zayn mouthing along to the lyrics for his part, and he’ll look like an idiot forever if that’s the result.

\---

_“It’s gone,” the men—hunters, they called themselves—say in their American accents. They look intense, grim-faced and cold under their leather jackets and flannel shirts, but they look tired too, and Harry could kiss them both. He doesn’t know where Liam found them, or how, but god he’s happy that he did._

_“Gone?” Liam echoes, incredulous. “Just—he’s fine?”_

_“Don’t know about that,” the shorter one, who’s still well taller than Harry, says, shrugging, “But it’s all out of him. Ghost’s all gone. Tough old broad, too.”_

_The taller one puts one hand on his partner’s arm, the other on Harry’s shoulder, Harry thinks because he’s the closest one to him. “This was a bad one, but yeah, he should get better.”_

_“Soon enough you’ll all be back on stage dancing, or whatever it is you do,” the shorter one agrees. He pauses, then adds, “Does it work, on chicks? The dancing?”_

_“Dean!” The tall one hisses. “Sorry,” he adds, to them._

_“’s okay, it does,” Niall replies easily. The tall one gives him a weird look, because to anyone who doesn’t know him Niall looks like he doesn’t care what happened in that room, but Harry knows him and he knows how Niall looks when he’s keeping things light on purpose._

_“Are you sure you don’t want payment?” Liam asks. Louis’s behind him, eyes narrowed in distrust._

_Harry leaves them to their good cop bad cop routine, and slips inside the bedroom. Zayn’s lying on the bed, splayed out almost like he could be asleep, if Harry didn’t know Zayn doesn’t sleep like that. He sits down on the bed next to him, and he thinks it’s that motion that makes Zayn’s eyes open._

_For a second, it is like watching him wake up, the way his eyelashes brush his cheeks, the way his lips part on an exhaled breath. Then Harry sees when he remembers, when his eyes go blank._

_“Harry?” he asks, sitting up. “God, Harry,” he repeats, and Harry can’t help hugging him—and that’s when Zayn starts to cry._

\---

Zayn’s been quiet, but he wants to be around people, Harry’s noticed. Even if he doesn’t say anything, he spends more time in the common areas than he used to, doesn’t retreat into his own space like he used to need. If anything, now, he trails after people, follows the last one to leave the room.

He can’t sleep alone, either, Louis tells the other boys in whispers. Louis’s been staying with him in the guest bed, because the first night he stayed alone, he started screaming. After that, Harry’s sure to come over most nights, to stay with him. He’s still not sure Zayn sleeps, but at least Harry can be a body to keep away the nightmares.

\---

_“Why do you need a new house?” Niall asks. He, Louis and Liam are kicking a ball around, while Zayn and Harry sit in the grass and watch them. Well, Harry had been kicking the ball around, until he’d nearly sprained his ankle and Zayn had dragged him down next to him._

_“Fresh start, yeah?” Zayn lies back in the grass, interlaces his hand behind his head. “New chapter and all.”_

_“And it’s not like he can’t afford it,” Louis adds. Zayn lazily flips him off._

_Harry flops down in the grass next to him, adjusts himself so he’s lying with his head on Zayn’s stomach. Zayn’s almost immediately sprinkling grass in his hair, but he can’t bring himself to care. “You chosen a place yet?” he asks._

_“I’m looking.” Zayn’s fingers comb through Harry’s hair now, so Harry will forgive him later when he finds bits of grass in it. “I want a place with a little history, you know?”_

_“Oh, like the Tower?” Harry retorts. Zayn snorts, and throws a handful of grass into his face, this time. Harry sits up to brush it off, and so he can pout full force where Zayn can see it._

_Zayn’s got his eyes closed though, and the sun is sinking into his skin, and he’s so beautiful it’s unfair sometimes. Harry lies back down, and sinks into the warmth of the summer afternoon._

\---

Niall’s the first to make him laugh.  Harry’s not jealous, he isn’t, except that he is. But it makes sense that it’s Niall, who Zayn’s always had a soft spot for, and when he says something crude and too-blunt in response to Louis’s scorn Zayn’s laugh is raspy and too quiet and it’s the best thing Harry’s ever heard.

“Zayn?” Louis demands, ignoring Niall’s comment to turn to him. Harry wasn’t the only one who had noticed it. “You okay?”

Zayn just looks at him, doesn’t retort like he usually would or add on to Niall’s comment, but he laughed and there’s a soft smile on his face and he’s only wearing two layers today, and so when Liam tackles him in a hug everyone else has to pile on too.

Harry buries his face in Zayn’s neck, then, because he can, because Zayn laughed, nips at Zayn’s ear. When Zayn looks at him with that, Harry shrugs, maybe blushes. Zayn looks like he might say something—but then Louis declares himself unable to breathe, and the moment’s broken.

\---

_Harry first hears about it in L.A., when Louis texted him asking him if he’d heard anything from Zayn. He hasn’t, but that’s not unusual. They’re on a break, Zayn tends to hermit, and it’s only gotten worse since Perrie and him split and he moved to that new place. But Louis tells him that his family hasn’t heard from him either, and Harry doesn’t need to see Louis to know he’s worried. He doesn’t have to see himself to know he’s worried too._

_He gets on a flight to London the next day._

\---

It’s slow, but Zayn gets better. He starts to laugh, and smile. He talks, but not a lot, and still less than before. He goes reliably down to two layers. His eyes look a little less haunted.

He still holds tight to Harry when they sleep, like he’s afraid he’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on hard enough. But he sleeps now, at least. Harry knows, because he doesn’t; because he stays awake and listens to Zayn breathe, and thinks about Zayn’s chapped lips, and how he’s getting better, and timing.

\---

_Zayn, or not-Zayn, screams when the hunters pin it down, wild and unearthly and a pitch not even Zayn’s hit before. It makes Harry want to curl up into a ball and hide forever, even from outside where he and the other boys are waiting, hands clasped tightly together._

_“Think they’re hurting him?” Liam asks._

_“They’re hurting it,” Louis retorts, white-faced. Niall just shakes his head, staring at the ground. Harry’s praying, he thinks. He’s not sure to what. Just—let him be okay, he repeats over and over again in his head. Let him come out of this okay._

\---

“It felt like I was drowning,” Zayn whispers. His voice still always sounds rough, even though he’s talking more now, but it also sounds like his sweetest riffs, just to hear him speak. It’s loud enough in the silence they’ve been sitting in. They’re on the couch at Louis’s, though Louis and El went out for some alone time, and all the lights are on but Zayn’s face still looks shadowed.

Harry nods intelligently, pulls Zayn closer into him so he can borrow his warmth. “Like, I was conscious, and I knew what was happening, but she was everywhere and whenever I breathed it was her and it was so cold.” He shivers. Harry grabs another blanket to spread over them. “She was cold.”

Harry makes a sound that’s closer to a growl than he’s usually capable of. But Zayn shakes his head. “She wasn’t evil. I don’t think. She just wanted to live. And she didn’t care what she did to make that happen.” His fists clench. “I—I’m just lucky, really. Lucky she didn’t make me do more.”

“You wouldn’t have. Nothing really bad,” Harry tells him, into his hair. He smells clean, like he just got out of the shower. He might well have—he’s been showering almost constantly.

“I would. I didn’t—She had everything.” Zayn swallows. “She got inside me, made me—like, I didn’t have any control. I would have done whatever she wanted. Possession, yeah?”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that, so he hugs Zayn harder. This is more than Zayn’s said in a month. He doesn’t want to cut it off by saying the wrong thing. He just wants Zayn to smile at him again, like he had that last day, with his eyes glinting gold and sunlight in his smile.

“I mean, she kissed you,” Zayn goes on. Harry wills himself not to react.

“Yeah, well, I am pretty hard to resist,” he agrees. It’s a weak joke. Zayn doesn’t laugh.

“She kissed you,” Zayn repeats, slowly. Like he’s only remembering it now. “And you—you kissed back.”

“Because I thought it was you!” Harry hurries to assure him. Except—“I mean.” But no. Zayn’s lost enough. “Because I thought it was you,” Harry repeats, and doesn’t shy away when Zayn turns in his arms to look at him.

He looks for a long moment, then all at once, faster than he’s moved in a while, he’s straddling Harry, the blankets thrown aside.

“Zayn?” Harry asks, nervous. Zayn might be acting erratically because of trauma. Zayn’s in his lap. “What are you doing?”

Zayn leans in. He’s not smiling, but there’s nothing haunted in his gaze as he braces himself on either side of Harry’s head with his hands. “I’m taking control,” he says, right before he kisses Harry.

This time, the kiss is as smooth and perfect as Harry knew it would be, and Harry doesn’t break away.

\---

_He tells the boys about the kiss, because he has to convince them something’s wrong. What he doesn’t tell them, what he doesn’t tell anyone, is how he kissed back. What he doesn’t say is for a second, that one second, he thought Zayn was kissing him, and he’d welcomed it._

_It’s not something to say. Not when they figure out what’s wrong, not when they find the hunters. Not when Zayn wakes up, and doesn’t say anything about it, and looks like the ghost may be out of him but what it left isn’t all of Zayn._

\---

“Are you sure you want this?” Harry asks. It might be too late, because they’re already naked and on the bed, Zayn trailing fingers and lips all over his skin and he’s already more than a little hard. Harry really just wants to keep kissing him, but he has to check.   

Zayn gives Harry’s nipple one last lick, then lifts his head. “I need to feel alive, Harry. This is—it’s a way to do that.” 

“Is that all this is?” Harry’s quiet, as he asks. He will anyway, he thinks. If it’ll give Zayn comfort, and him pleasure.

Zayn’s quiet a long, long second. “I need to feel alive,” Zayn repeats at last, saying each word like he’s tasting it. “You make me feel alive, Harry. You.” He swallows. “You make me feel warm. I haven’t been warm in forever, it feels like.”

It’s enough. Harry rolls them over, so he’s on top, but when Zayn’s eyes widen he shifts so he’s not pinning Zayn down at all. “Well then,” He says, and grins filthily. “Let’s see if we can warm you up.”

\---

_Harry doesn’t say I told you so. He could—they’d always made fun of him for his belief in the supernatural—but he finds, now that it comes down to it, he wishes he were wrong._

\---

Zayn’s voice is rough, a bit out of practice, but it sends shivers down Harry’s spine as he sings, his hands cupped around the microphone and his whole body in it, like he used to. It rises, and falls in a waterfall of a run, and Harry can’t help himself from clapping as it trails off.

“Good?” Zayn asks, pushing his hair self-consciously out of his face.

“Nah, it sucked, we’re kicking you out of the band,” Louis asserts, from Harry’s other side.

“You are the weakest link,” Niall agrees, chuckling, and Liam laughs.

Zayn smiles. He’s still not talking, and he still screams when he sleeps sometimes. But when Harry goes over, wraps an arm around his shoulders and asks, “How are you feeling?” Zayn looks up, and his eyes are bright and gold and full.

“Warm.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know it's not proper Supernatural canon. And no, I don't know how Sam and Dean ended up in England. Go with it. 
> 
> Liked it? Hated it? Want to discuss? Comment or come chat on [ tumblr!](http://ridiculouslittleidiots.tumblr.com/)


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